Dust (Of Dust and Darkness)

by Devon Ashley

  It’s pitch black and I can’t see a thing, and there’s something heavy weighing down on my wings, which almost feel broken. It’s cold. And dark. “Somebody? Anybody?” I call out. My echo repeats the words back at me, almost mocking me as they fade away and escape this place without me.

  I reach for my pixie dust but feel nothing. I frantically pat myself down, inflicting more unnecessary pain, but my satchel of pixie dust is nowhere to be found. I panic and crawl across the cold floor, searching for my lost satchel. Stone? It feels natural, like a cave. I think I’m deep within a cave. The jagged rock cuts into my flesh with each step I make on my hands and knees. My wings burn, my chest burns, and a spot on the outside of my left wrist burns, but I feel nothing except grit and grime upon my skin. My heart speeds up with each second that passes, because with each of those seconds, I grow more aware that something very bad has happened. Very, very bad.

  I scream again – part for pain, part for terror. The next crawling step runs me into a wall, which unfortunately my forehead finds first. Something warm drips down my nose and then falls lost to the floor. It’s at this moment I realize my face is dewy, saturated with tears that probably ran while I was still unconscious. My knees and legs shake as I use the wall to pull myself into a standing position. I reach as high as my arms will allow but feel nothing overhead, and the stretch activates the unbearable pain in my spine once more. I hunch over and follow the wall in the darkness, crying all the way, trying to stifle the screams within. I’m so cautious with my steps, edging my feet around the protrusions, that it takes me forever. It feels like the wall curves slightly to the left…and keeps on curving. My will to continue begins to diminish. I’m tired, my back is killing me and I have this horrible feeling that I may have come full circle, which means I’m most likely trapped in a hole.

  My head feels woozy, and a sudden wave of nausea overcomes me. I fall to my knees, cutting them once more, surely bruising them, and my chest dry heaves a few times, my stomach too empty to oblige. It’s painful, and exhausting. My body crumbles to the rocky floor. I’m so tired. And my wings hurt.

  But I have to get out. Where ever I am, I have to get out. I extend my arms and try to push myself up but the dizziness triumphs over me once more. I collapse again, this time smacking my head on a jagged protuberance from the rocky ground. I moan weakly as sharp, piercing pains radiate from the side of my head.

  My body aches and releases a long groan as I rise off my stomach. It’s still black. And cold. My wings still hurt but not as bad as last time…whenever that was. My face isn’t wet so I guess the pain wasn’t as excruciating while I was passed out this time. My stomach really hurts though. Like really hurts. It’s roaring and ripping me a new one for forgetting about it. I didn’t eat much the day I was taken and nothing since.

  I shuffle my body backwards inch by inch until I’m leaning against the wall. As rocky as it is, I’ve found a niche that doesn’t dig into my aching spine. As my head lay sideways along the wall, my ears pick up a slight humming noise. It’s constant and almost soothing, but it’s not enough to deter my thoughts. A few tears descend because I’m not sure what to do. I suspect I’ve been dumped in a hole somewhere with damaged wings. No, not just damaged. I fear they’ve been broken. Or maybe the metal strapped to their base adds enough weight to make them feel broken. Either way, the slightest movement is painful. I never found my satchel so I have no pixie dust to help me. I suppose I could keep calling out, but I have serious doubts I’ll find a friendly creature within earshot. And I suppose I could try to climb, but without the tiniest smidgen of light, I have no idea how to scale the wall, or how far up I’ll have to go. And if I fall…

  I shake my head of the thought and instead, I try to assess my injuries in the dark. Injured wings, obviously. There’s a tender spot near my left temple that definitely has a nasty bruise. So much of my skin is burning from an infinite number of scratches, but none feel too serious. Except this one spot on my neck where I think that stinger pierced me, or most likely, a dart.

  A dart. Someone actually did this to me. Was it a pixie? A faery? A sprite? I just don’t understand who. Or why. What did I do to deserve this? I’ve never hurt or angered anyone. I may be a little more free-spirited than my fellow pixies, but I always obey the elders and do what is expected of me. So what I have done wrong that karma put me here?

  I sit alone in the darkness shivering, arms wrapped tightly around my waist, with tears burning behind my eyes as they fight to escape my tense, aching body.

  Everything hurts. Just the slightest touch on my skin makes me wince. My mouth is dry and sticky, and my lips are crusting over. I try to lick them with my tongue, but the effect is like rubbing sandpaper on rock. I’m nauseous but I’m not sure if it’s because I haven’t eaten in a few days, or if it’s from the fecal matter I had to leave unburied in this rock prison.

  I had hopes that my eyes would adjust to the darkness, but even after the days I know I’ve spent here, I still see nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ve been staring upwards for about an hour now – and I’ve got the kink in my neck to prove it – hoping that the tiniest sliver of light would give me an indication of how high these walls are. I’ve decided to climb. I know it’s stupid, what with my weakened state of mind and body. I’ll probably fall and damage myself beyond repair, or worse, to my death. But I fear I’ve been left here to rot until I’m ashes and bones, so I’m starting to think I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Even if it means suffering from a fall.

  It’s a slow climb to my feet. Slow and steady wins the race, Rosalie. I stumble along the wall feeling for peaks large enough to support my feet and hands. There aren’t many to choose from. Whoever chose this hole did so for a reason. It’s practically inescapable. My head is pounding and I feel my eyes go in and out of focus even though there’s nothing to focus on. I decide on a spot and inhale a deep breath to calm my nerves, because I’m pretty sure this won’t end positively. But I can’t leave this world thinking I did nothing to save myself. I can’t be the pixie that just waits in a hole to die.

  I reach up and pull on a rocky protuberance. I’m quick to find support for my foot because I know I don’t have the strength to hold my body up with my arms alone. Quite frankly, I don’t even trust my legs at this point. I hold my body flush against the wall as best I can and slowly extend my right arm up, feeling for the next rock to grasp. There isn’t one. I sigh and rest my forehead against the wall as my right arm comes down and my left goes up. It’s not until my arm is extended above me that I find one. I don’t like the idea of pulling with my weak arm at such a great distance, but I have no choice. I reach down and pat the wall for something to step on that’s within reach of my feet. I only find one spot that may work, so I propel my body upwards and step on the rock before I can talk myself out of going. My movement is shaky at best, and there’s only room for my left foot on the bump, so my right is left dangling lifelessly along the wall. I manage to climb about three feet up the wall before I get stuck. There’s nothing within reach for my hands and the only step available for my feet is quite a stretch. I’ll have to go back a step and try to climb sideways.

  I sigh my disappointment. My support leg is really shaking. I’m not sure how much longer it can hold. My right leg is scanning the wall for a place to stand when a huge muscle spasm attacks my left calf. I scream and try to switch my left out for my right, but there isn’t enough room on the rock. My right foot slips trying to find ground and I can’t stop gravity from taking me.

  As hard as I try, I can’t get my body to turn in the air. The steel attached to my back is determined to beat me to the ground, and the weight of my body lands heavily upon my wings, which crunch upon impact. The pain is instantaneous and radiates throughout my body in quick waves, but I’m so stunned my lungs have yet to expand and allow me to scream in agony. My entire body shakes violently, then spasms. I scream, but my throat is so dry the only audible sound I make is a dire whispe
r. I’m so exhausted and damaged all I can really produce is a pathetic whimper for this massive amount of pain. But even in this painful state, I’m still able to cry. Of course nothing comes out anymore, but I cry nonetheless, because I know I’m going to die here. In a dark hole. All alone.

  My body lay askew on the ground sideways, my wings a broken twisted mess. I’m not sure if they’ll ever fully heal, but I doubt they’ll be given the chance anyway.

  “Until then, just swing on the willowy tree.” I’ve been singing this over and over again for the past few hours. I use the term singing pretty loosely, as it’s more of a hum since my throat is so parched. I can’t seem to remember the rest of the song, or what it’s even about. But I keep singing.

  My singing has finally stopped, but that doesn’t keep the humming from continuing on inside my head. My body has gone numb and refuses to move at this point. My stomach has long since given up on me so it doesn’t bother me with hunger requests anymore. My ear is flush with the ground so all I hear is that strange humming noise inside the cave, which incidentally, now seems to hum along with the tune repeating in my head. It soothes me in a strange way, and I know it’ll probably be the last sound I ever hear. As if that realization isn’t dreadful enough, my eyes begin playing tricks on me. It’s a cruel hallucination to show me a faint yellowish glow now that I’m knocking on Father Time’s door. My head won’t budge, and looking out the corner of my eye gives me an intense headache. To add insult to injury, the glow grows larger and larger as it descends into my prison, blinding me, finally its metal canister clinking on the rock beside me. Like a moth to a flame, it’s all I can focus on, and I fear the end has come. “Father Time?” I try to ask, but it comes out as a garbled whisper. Has the last grain of sand in my personal hour glass finally fallen?

  I feel a rough, pointed nudge in my side and hear the words, “We may have left this one too long. Maybe we should just leave it.”

  I know I should care what the voices above me are saying, but I can’t stop admiring the flame before me, tumbling around in its glass lantern, as much a prisoner as I am. I desperately want to reach out and touch it, to free it, and my fingers begin to twitch with anticipation.

  A second voice huffs heavily and grunts, “I’m not going back for another. Let’s see if it survives first.”

  “Fine.”

  Two pairs of hands grab me and lift me off the ground, their mitts so large they practically wrap completely around my arms. Sadly, all I seem to care about is that they’re moving me farther away from the flame. I never appreciated the ability of making fire before I got thrown into this hellhole. I groan with disappointment because I’m too weak to protest any other way. My head hangs low as I feel our ascent up the prison. When I feel my body shift sideways, my heart jumps with excitement. I’m free! Oh, Mother Nature, I’m free!

  With the flame’s light I’m now able to see the rocky floor just inches below us. It’s black with a hint of silvery sparkle twinkling at me as we fly over. I find solace in knowing my captors don’t intend on killing me, but I’m still left with zero sense of what’s going on and who they are, and more importantly, where I fit into this equation.

  My skin shivers as a refreshing rush of wind tumbles past us through the tunnel, invigorating my sense of touch. I’m able to lift my aching neck for just a moment and spot the entrance to the cave that imprisoned me these past few days: foreboding with rocky peaks dropping down like canines in a wolf’s mouth. I certainly feel like I’ve been in the belly of the beast, but what an odd feeling to be going the opposite way in the maw, like I’m disgusting to taste, and the monster’s spiting me back out. Water showers down the other side and explains the constant hum I heard during my involuntary stay. My captors pause before the entrance and I wonder if they’re inexperienced flyers when it comes to wet wings. Had I the strength to escape their grasps and fly away, I’m sure I could have burst through the water with no problem. But then I remember the condition of my wings and I hang my head in reluctant defeat.

  My captor with the gruff voice bellows, “Open up ya’ friggin’ sprig!”

  A spriggan? Is that what holds me up? It makes sense. Spriggans are the largest of the faeries, coming in around fourteen inches tall, whereas faeries max out about nine and pixies seven. Barbarians at best, if you find a group of spriggans, they’re typically acting as mercenaries or bodyguards for someone. So this can’t be good.

  I hear a thunderous clunk, like wood slapping against wood, and I lift my head enough to see the shower before me turn into a trickling rain. As my captors fly us out of the cave and over a tiny stream, I’m sprinkled with water droplets. I quickly lick the ones on my shoulders and feel the instant gratification, but my body yearns for so much more. I rub my lips together, desperately trying to spread a single drop between them. My eyes widen at the stream just inches below my feet and my body instinctively squirms to reach for it. The hands upon my arms squeeze tighter and my body weakens into submission.

  It’s night and all is dark. The full moon must have passed while I was imprisoned because it’s hard to see beyond the light of the flame. My head still hangs limply so I have no idea where I am, or how far I am from home.

  After flying for a few minutes, I am unceremoniously dumped on the ground. The hardened clay beneath me is as uncomfortable as the rock prison I just left, but at least it doesn’t cut my skin. My captors up and leave me, but not alone. Once their light fades to nothing, I hear soft whispers and the pattering of feet approaching. Gentle hands embrace me and lift my upper body.

  “Drink this,” a mature female says softly. I feel smoothed wood against my lips followed by a slosh of water. I’m eager but my mouth is slow to react, so my handler tilts the bowl, allowing the water to flow gently into my mouth. The relief is instantaneous, but my mouth is so dry and lifeless I gag on the small amount pooling within. Water trickles down the wrong part of my throat and I involuntarily heave, thrusting air upward to expel it. I choke for several seconds, and more than one pair of hands tries to cradle and comfort my body. “Try again,” the voice says, and I do, this time properly sipping at the water until the bowl runs dry. The water cools the burn I just caused, leaving my lips, mouth and throat refreshed, but not really satisfied. I sigh and lean back, releasing my weight to the hands supporting my back.

  My eyes open and I immediately see the moon, just a tiny sliver amongst the bright specks in the midnight blue sky. It’s off to the side in the sky, early in its nightly journey, but the lack of trees around me make it easy to see. Behind me I hear the mature voice say, “Willow, dear, hand me one of the bowls of mash.”

  I hear an annoyed huff, followed by a younger female voice answer, “We weren’t given any provisions for her. You know we don’t have enough to feed her too. And by the looks of her, she’s gonna die any moment anyway.”

  “Willow!” the older female barks. “I wasn’t asking for permission. Hand me one of the bowls.” The sternness of her voice makes my body tense and I’m relieved she’s on my side at this moment. I can’t see Willow, but in my mind I picture her cowering before what must be a beast of a female.

  “Here dear, try this.” I finally see the face that goes with this mature voice and it’s nothing like I expect. Sure, the pixie is several decades older and her poor face is weathered and wrinkled, but it’s the other attributes I didn’t expect. She’s not beastly but pathetically thin. Her cheeks are concave, her eye cavities hollow and the area under her eyes look almost bruised they’re so dark. And all this I can tell under the night’s sky. Come morning – if I survive – I’m sure it’ll look ten times more emaciated.

  I’m not sure who’s supporting me from behind, but I appreciate the steady hold as the old pixie gets ready to feed me some type of dark mash in a wooden bowl. My stomach has no interest but my eyes sure do, and they widen with anticipation. She uses a wooden spoon to scoop it up and my lips envelop it, sweeping the substance off the smoothed curvature and into my mouth.
My lips are so chapped even the smooth edges of the spoon feel as sharp as a shard of slate. The mash is gritty and mushy at the same time. My taste buds aren’t telling me what I’m eating, but just the texture alone gets my face to wince.

  “It’s alright. It’s just some seeds and local berries. Really chew on this. I don’t want you choking.” I obey her command but my mouth is extremely sensitive, and each crack of the seeds on my teeth causes an explosion of pain in my gums. Despite being slicked down with mashed berries, the seeds are hard to go down and pieces get stuck in my throat, scratching like fingernails as they slowly descend with each swallow.

  “Water, please.” It’s the first time I’ve been able to speak clearly for days and the please comes off as begging. The old pixie obliges and I tilt my head back a little to allow an easy pour into my mouth. The water sweeps through my mouth and rushes down my throat, cleansing as it goes. I sigh with satisfaction, truly feeling refreshed for the first time, and my lips curl into what smile my crusty lips can produce without splitting and drawing blood. She continues alternating the mash and water until the bowl runs empty. I never really taste what I’m eating but my stomach roars to life now that something resides in it. The pixie holding me up gently lays me back and I see her for the first time. She’s not much older than me but her body seems as thin as the older pixie, and what I fear will shortly be my fate as well. No wonder Willow didn’t want to share the food with me.